


Corpses We Were

by TheZeroMoment



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Angst, Being a Zombie in General, Blood, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mild Gore, Past Relationship(s), Phamy, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 02, Siren, Warming Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-24 08:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4912552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheZeroMoment/pseuds/TheZeroMoment
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy was in the ground, Simon was acting odd and Kieren's just overwhelmed with sadness at losing his best friend again and dealing with the fact his body is coming alive again.<br/>He doesn't even want to think about the cult that's trying to kill him.</p><p>Picks up exactly where season 2 left off!<br/>Written for the In The Flesh Big Bang 2015.<br/>Artwork by lehonk on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kieren.

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is at long last!! My In The Flesh Big Bang!!
> 
> Artwork by the freaking incredible lehonk on tumblr. The pieces will be added throughout the story in appropriate places.  
> Thank you incredibly to the admins at intheflesh-bigbang who organised all of this!! It was incredible taking part c:
> 
> Unbeta-ed, and as always, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> For everyone in the In The Flesh fandom. You're all fab. Thank you for not letting our fandom die out.  
> Enjoy xx

 

It felt like when Rick had died, and he never thought he could feel that sort of loss again; deep haze setting over his mind and limbs making them even more numb than they were in his undead state, yet at the same time, it amplified the magnitude of emotions that came rolling in like waves on the shore. He was laughing without knowing why at stupid things one minute and trembling with unshed tears the next.

 

The funeral had been painful for Kieren, much so than the dull throbbing guilt and wrongness about the world since Amy’s death. It felt like a rift had been torn straight through his gut and left a gaping, Amy-sized hole in its place. It was the confirmation that Kieren’s mind needed that yes, she was dead and yes, she wouldn’t come bouncing back, skirts swishing and beckoning him in for a hug with wiggling fingers.

 

He wanted to scream, tear people’s faces apart and shout at them, blame them for the fact that she wasn’t still alive, because dear God, he’d do anything to trade places with her, for him to be the one six feet under instead. She didn’t deserve it, she never did. It was his fault for not being there to protect her, for not knowing somehow, for not stopping her from getting mixed up in all the ULA shit to begin with. For not taking her place.

 

Lots of people were at the funeral; not that Kieren minded much. Amy liked people, and living or not, lots of people adored Amy. She was so happy, so lovable, so perfect and-

 

He clenched his fists tight, needing a distraction but he still was unable to feel his fingernails digging into his palms, his breathing unwittingly speeding up and sharpening until he forces himself to look away from the pictures of Amy scattered around. She was living in all of them. There wasn’t any trace of the Amy Kieren knew. It was like that version: fighter of PDS Rights and proud of herself, didn’t exist, it no longer existed, it never had.

 

He let out a shuddering breath and glanced around the room until he saw Simon, stood away from the chattering crowds, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. His hair was tousled from the wind outside and it seemed as though he hadn’t been bothered to fix it. Kieren want to do it for him. Sooth the older man with gentle touches to reassure the both of them that it was in fact over now, all the ‘Second Rising’ bullshit could be left behind in the mud.

 

Watching Simon was like watching the stars flicker at night, his eyes flitting from person to person and expression changing from stoic to alarmed to judgemental like someone leafing through the pages of a book. He was dressed in the suit he was buried in - seemingly the only non-jumpers-and-slacks outfit he owned. Kieren didn’t care, the midnight blue made his skin even more strikingly pale and translucent, making the obvious veins flooded with blackened blood stand out stark.

 

Kieren stepped away from his parents; being drawn in by Simon and his magnetic energy. He looked up at him, pale eyes flashing with concern. Kieren’s lips pulled up at the corners in a hint of a smile; letting Simon know he was okay, that he would be okay.

 

“Come over.” He gestured to his parents, who were stood chatting in hushed voices little more than a few yards away. He looked down, not meeting his eyes.

 

“They blame me.” His voice was small, broken. Kieren was scared for him, he’d never heard Simon sound so timid before.

 

“No, they don’t.”

 

“If Amy hadn’t of come back here with me…” He clenched his eyes shut as he twitched, head turning barely half an inch yet signalling Simon’s reluctance to look Kieren in the eye properly. He probably thought Kieren blamed Simon too. He did, to some extent, but it was his fault. He was the first risen, they both knew that at least. Christ, Amy had probably known that, and it had killed her.

 

“It wasn’t your fault. Maxine Martin killed her over some insane belief.” Kieren’s voice was hollow but he put that down to just the sadness over Amy’s death, which it was partially, but Simon, sweet loving Simon would never understand that it was Kieren’s fault. Could never understand why Kieren didn’t deserve to live a second life after he brought upon the deaths of two of his loved ones.

 

Simon looked down at his shuffling feet. His hands were gripping nervously at his jacket sleeves and it was pissing Kieren off. He needed to stop the fidgeting, lay icy hands over his skin to still him and preserve him, encase him in frost.

 

“After this. We should go, Kier.”

 

“Go?” Kieren was yanked from his wandering thoughts about painting Simon’s skin; on Simon’s skin in blues and whites and navies as he watched the older man look at him tenderly, eyebrows furrowed slightly, “go where?”

 

“Away from here. It’s not safe.” He held eye contact, searching Kieren. He let himself be prised open, letting his confusion and reasoning flood the connection between them.

 

“I can’t leave.”

 

“Isn’t leaving what you wanted to do?” His eyebrows raised slightly in the way they always did when he was startled. It made him look older, emphasising the defined crows-feet-type lines at the corners of his eyes.  

 

“It was... “ He paused, swallowing back the lump in his throat. “Amy asked me once how many miles I’d have to go before I’d be okay with myself. I thought I’d have to go all around the world. I don’t think that anymore. I’m okay here.” He tried to smile but it probably came out looking forced. He couldn’t bring himself to care much though, his words were true. He could never leave Roarton now, it would feel like giving up on Amy and that just wasn’t right.

 

They looked at eachother for a moment, the air settling between them in the mutual agreement to stay put.

 

“Simon,”  his dad was leaning slightly on the front of his toes - something he did when he was nervous and was a habit both Jem and himself had picked up. He put out his hand for a handshake, which Simon didn’t notice for a handful of moments, too enthralled by Kieren and mildly terrified by his boyfriend’s father. “wanted to thank you.”

 

“Thank me?” His voice had become timid once more.

 

“You saved Kier’s life.” His Dad was smiling at him, the smile he usually only reserved for witty directors or the maker of a particularly good hot pot; fondness and distant friendship. Kieren could visibly see Simon exhale, attempting to relax as he shook his hand.

 

“Reflex.”

 

 

Kieren felt his mum looming at his shoulder before he heard or saw her. Brown hair combed neatly and wearing an outfit that hadn’t seen the light of day in over a decade in respect of Amy, who seemed to adore all his mother's ancient frocks, had adored.

 

“Have you got a place to stay?”

 

“I’m up at Amy’s bungalow at the moment…” His voice broke when he said Amy’s name. It was painful to hear, knowing that Simon did love her and had admired her an incomparable amount.

 

His mum gestured to the shoulder bag that Kieren only just noticed dumped unceremoniously at his feet. “Not going away I hope.”

 

Simon’s yes diverted from his mum and to Kieren instead, meeting his gaze with a gentle smile.  

 

“No.” Kieren’s lips tugged up at the corners despite everything. He’d decided to stay in Roarton with him despite all suspicions. “I’m staying put.”

 

He slips away, careful not to be noticed by his parents or Simon; who had continued the conversation about Simon being able to stay for lunch any day he wishes.

 

He needed a minute.

 

He slipped into the cramped bathroom just down the hall, muffling the chatter coming from the living room and kitchen. He let out a deep breath and tugged his hands through his hair, relief at being alone flooding through him.

 

He practically slumped against the tiled wall, eventually just sitting down on the closed lid of the loo before pulling out the dog-eared postcard Amy sent him what felt like years ago although it was only a few months; the one telling him about the ULA commune and her ‘super secret important mission for special people’. He’d been carrying it around since it had arrived in the post, it was a reassurance that everything was okay and at least he had someone. He had Amy then. He had no one now, apart from Simon. There was always Simon.

 

This is when; if he could still produce tears, they would be making it difficult to see. It felt significant, if pointless to press and wipe at his eyes.

 

He was shaking, rather violently at that, yet he couldn’t feel it. He felt numb as he shook his hand deliberately, firmly, dismissing it and pushing the feelings away. God he missed Amy, painfully so. It felt like his entire being was overcome with the loss, but again, he shoved the emotions away violently as he slid the postcard in contrast, carefully back into his pocket.

 

The reflection of himself in the mirror above the sink made him start. Jem had taken the towel down. Broken pin prick eyes, skin paler than milk, bruised around his temples and eyes. He stared into his own translucent eyes, casually thinking about how it was no wonder people were terrified.

 

It was okay though, he was okay. Amy would have wanted for him to be okay, even though he so obviously wasn’t. He could accept himself for her; if not anyone else. He dips his chin slightly in acknowledgment, running his hands - still shaking with tremors slightly, over the rim of the sink before looking away and leaving the bathroom and closing it with a click behind him.

 

Simon was stood at the door into the living room, obviously making a bid to escape from Kieren’s parents and try to find the younger himself. Kieren smiled at him slightly, the corners of his lips twitching up subtly when Simon’s eyes met his and his face practically lit up with relief and happiness, which in turn made Kieren shift uncomfortably.

 

“You alright?” He asked, his accent sliding the words together in a thick drawl that, to be honest, sent shivers down Kieren’s spine, stepping closer to him. Simon never initiated contact first - despite Kieren constantly reminding him it was fine to touch him whenever. He reached out and took Simon’s hand loosely in his own.

 

“I’m okay.” He said, because it was true.

 

“Will you… Will you stay at hers with me tonight?” His voice cracked and he was looking down again. He understood it was a lot to ask, and it was hardly like he could turn him down this one thing. Kieren tugged at his hand to get Simon’s attention.

 

“Lets go. Now. I can’t be around these people anymore.” Kieren said for him rather dismissively; and he knew how much it meant to Simon when his shoulders slumped in relief and he exhaled sharply. “C’mon.”

 

They walked out of Kieren’s house practically hand in hand and most definitely in silence. Simon had his head bowed, looking at his shoes as the standing water on the tarmac splashed slightly; while Kieren was gazing at the rolling grey clouds above their heads, absentmindedly wishing it would snow.

 

They hadn’t had snow yet this year and he missed it. A lot. Missed seeing the shimmering white powder scattered perfectly like icing sugar on a cake along the rolling hills of Roarton Valley, he remembered painting it once and getting frustrated because he couldn’t quite capture the weak sunlight's’ reflection just right. He was never that great at landscapes anyway.

 

The snow cleansed everything, made everything pure and fresh and untarnished by people, leeching the awful things away and melting it within the ice without anyone even noticing.

 

The bungalow was quiet, and the sound of their shuffling clothing was painfully loud; echoing off the walls as Kieren slipped off his smart shoes and curled his toes in his socks, watching Simon loosen his tie from around his neck and glance around the room, pointedly ignoring the door to Amy’s room, which was firmly shut with key still in the lock.

 

Kieren ignored it too and averted his eyes, stepping forward to pull Simon’s suit jacket off his shoulders from behind.

 

“Kieren?”

 

“Just…” he exhaled slowly, “let me, okay?”

 

Simon didn’t respond, letting Kieren run his fingers over his collar in a way that should’ve brought goosebumps to his skin; but of course, didn’t. Inhaling sharply he pressed his face into the crisp material covering his shoulder blade, narrowly avoiding the scar he knew was there, but had never seen. Simon wasn’t moving in the slightest, not even to breath.

 

Kieren let himself stand there, slightly tilted forward on his toes and forehead pressed against Simon’s shoulder through his shirt; while Simon refused to even shift on his feet, terrified to snap the silk like ensnare that had trapped them both in the moment.

 

He composed himself with a sniff and stepped back, undoing his own tie with shaking fingers, trying to dismiss everything that just overcame him, while Simon still stood stoic in place, rooted to the spot, hands still frozen over his shirt buttons as he marvelled in the wonder that was the firm press of Kieren against his back that he could only dream of feeling.


	2. Kieren.

Kieren woke a few days later with black sludge caked on his hands and all over his face; trickling slowly from his nose. He coughed, choking slightly on the bile that had found its way into his mouth to slip down his throat. He yanked back the bedsheets and stumbled out of Simon’s arms and dead weight in his bed; he had been sleeping over most nights since the funeral, and away into the darkness of the hall.

 

It was still so shadowed everywhere but due to the time of year it could’ve been 8am for all he knew. He crept down the passage and into the bathroom, the yellow lights burning at his eyes - which he shouldn’t have felt really but the damage was done by the contacts he once wore religiously.

 

The gunge coating his hands was less than he imagined but looked worse in light, bubbled and thick, drying between his fingers and forming bubbles and clots in his palms, dripping now as a steady rhythm into the sink, making the contrast between the colours even more pronounced.

 

He glanced at his reflection in the mirror. It was smudged up his cheeks and down over his mouth, congealing at the corners of his lips. He looked wild - hair sticking up on end and frightened eyes staring back through his reflection; no, not wild. He looked Rabid.

 

 

Breathing suddenly became very difficult; ribs contracting inwards and refusing to let in air as he bend his head, watching his version of blood drip from his nose. Why the fuck was he bleeding? Was the blue oblivion he’d taken still somehow in his body? Had he had his nerotryptaline in the past 24 hours? His shaking hands - still coated in drying goo, clung to the edge of the sink, as he trembled and hyperventilated in attempt to get unneeded air into his lungs.

 

He could hear Jem waking up for school through in the next room; bedsheets rustling and the clatter of schoolbooks banging around. It was better than screaming, at least. She was getting better.

 

The sounds of someone else moving around, simply being, brought him back to his senses enough to turn the tap on and shove his hands under the stream. It wouldn’t do his skin any good - in its partially rotting state and all, but he didn’t really care. Using his nails, or lack thereof to scrape the dried material from the grooves of his hands. He let the water gather in his stained palms, rinsing them therapeutically.

 

There came a knock on the door suddenly.

 

“Kier? That you?”

 

“Yeah, be out in a minute.” He responded automatically and scorned himself for not locking the door behind him. Last thing Jem needed was him looking… well, like that.

 

He used damp tissues to wipe his face clean; being as careful as possible to not scratch himself up in the rush. Tossing them in the toilet to get rid of them before rinsing his hands of the leftover watered down black goo he shut the tap off and opened the door to see a sleepy, ever so slightly irked, makeupless Jem.

 

“What are you even doing?” She tilted her head to one side in a puppylike manner.

 

“Nothing?” He said in the same tone, copying her mannerisms.

 

“Whatever, weirdo. Shove off.”

 

“You have fun at school.”

 

“You have fun with your boyfriend.” She teased, shutting the door in his face.

 

Kieren shook his head fondly and, while wiping his damp hands on his cotton pajama bottoms he made his way back to Simon.

 

Kieren’s childhood room was more cramped than his memories of it; large blank or filled canvases and pots of paintbrushes and pencils - carefully sharpened with stencil knives and organised by content of lead, along the shelves.

 

Simon looked out of place in his room, curled up tight along the edge of his narrow bed; the duvet was tangled around his legs and his hands were wound in the sheets that Kieren had been in minutes beforehand. The sight was endearing to say the least -  his mouth slightly parted and frown lines that normally creased his forehead gone. He sighed lightly in his sleep and Kieren’s chest ached a little. He was so unbelievably fond of this man; who had seeming dropped into his life with no warning. There was no structure, no gradual build up to them, like there had been with Kieren and Rick; they just were, and it made him so inexplicably happy.

 

He silently crossed the room to slump on his desk chair, watching the older man’s ribs slide seamlessly up and down, air filling his dead lungs through muscle memory and nothing else. He was living in every sense of his being, apart from the obvious lack of heartbeat and Kieren was enthralled. He never thought the Undead to be so bizarre and so intriguing, maybe it was just Simon.

 

He selected his pencils and turned to a clean page in his sketchbook robotically, not letting the chair even creak in case of waking his boyfriend as he pulled up his knees to rest the paper on, smoothly sketching out Simon’s outline like clockwork before squinting slightly and chewing on the edge of his pencil, contemplating on what part of his figure to start on. Simon shuffled a little in his sleep and Kieren sighed in frustration, before setting about delicately scratching the outline of his nose and mouth, partially concealed by the blankets and pillows stacked up against the wall.

 

Kieren’s fingers shook slightly as he tried to shade the place between Simon's lips. These tremors  turned quickly to shudders, making him drop his pencil with a clatter dully against the carpet - his hands were shaking too much to keep a hold of it. He swore under his breath and clenched his fingers into a fist, focusing solely on controlling himself; the sketchbook fell off his lap as he held tight on his wrist, trying to stop the shaking and an upcoming panic attack as his breathing sped up.

 

“Kier?” came a sleepy mumble from the bed. Simon’s eyes were wide open and he was watching him with a tired sort of fondness. “Y’alright?” His accent and sleep-fuzzy state softened his words, slurring them together. His hand reached out of the sheets and hung in the air a few inches away from Kieren’s lap, “Come back to bed, yeah? S’Too early for you to be up doin’ wha’ever you’re doin’.” His fingers wiggled invitingly and Kieren cautiously touched his hand dully, tracing his fingers over the smooth ashy skin.

 

It was calloused slightly with burns left from previous life and Kieren didn’t want to think of how he got them - cooking drugs probably, and instead lifted his arm up slightly and intertwined their fingers before slipping cautiously back into his narrow bed, kicking the sheets aside slightly and letting Simon drape his arms around him again. It was a small comfort, seeing Simon in his soft sleepy state, something rare and to be appreciated when possible; he wondered if Simon was alive, how warm he would be.

 

He heard Simon sigh against his forehead and presumed he’d kissed him because he was mumbling when he spoke.

 

“Stop panic’in’. We’ll deal with wha’ever it is in a’ a sensible hour.”

 

Kieren almost wanted to believe him; to know he was fine and didn’t just wake up to a face covered in zombie-blood, that his anxiety wasn’t through the roof already and now he was dealing with such a case of the shakes he couldn’t put it down to mourning or whatever the fuck. He was terrified, and although Simon was here, he needed Amy.

 

When Kieren awoke suddenly, after a couple more hours’ pitiful, fitful sleep, Simon was pulling a shirt over his head and attempting to smooth his hair down in the tiny mirror Kieren kept in his room.

 

“Mornin’.” He smiled that dopey Simon smile that Kieren had come to find less weird and more endearing and knelt by the side of the bed. “Y’alright now? You were shaken up before, had a nightmare or somethin’?”

 

“Yeah. S’fine.” Kieren struggled to sit up. His limbs felt heavy and wrong, like they were detached from his body and he was only controlling them with strings. Like he was master of a puppet-Kieren and trapped inside his own brain.

 

“Sure?”

 

Kieren didn’t answer and instead began shoving the blankets off to get up. He needed to see Amy - or her grave at least, maybe he’d drop in on Rick too. His fingers curled in the soft duvet as Simon hummed a bit under his breath and stood up.

 

“Jem says I need to help her with her English coursework, you’ll be alright?”

 

“Yeah, think I might go visit Amy.”

 

“Want me to come with you?” Simon asked fondly, holding out his hands to help Kieren up from the bed.

 

“Nah, I haven’t seen Rick in a while either.” Kieren said without thinking, and immediately looked at Simon nervously through his lashes, trying to gauge his reaction. The older man just smiled fondly and lean forward, catching Kieren slightly off guard and kissed his cheek, just to the side of his eye where the bone was most prominent and the skin was darkened considerably by the veins around his eyes. The movement was decidedly unlike Simon, yet he didn’t mind.

 

“Be careful.” He warned, before stepping away and leaving Kieren alone, practically floundering from the sudden lack of closeness. Kieren wiped at his face in exhaustion and tried to ignore the fact he was still shaking like a leaf for dressing somewhat appropriately for the early January weather.

 

Sneaking downstairs and out of the front door was relatively easy, blanking Jem and Simon, sat in the living room who were quoting lines of poetry to each other in some sort of rapid fire succession and closing the door behind him with a quiet click and a deep breath of the frigid early morning winter air.

 

Shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his hoodie, he fell into easy step to the graveyard.

 

There was frost covering the grass, crystallizing everything and making it look like the gravestones had just come out of deep freeze. It took him a minute to remember where Amy was buried and how to weave his way past other corpses in the ground to her.

 

The soil was still freshly turned, the flowers scattered by the wind in the grass were too fresh, too alive, and the sky that expanded over the rolling green hills was clouded and grey, turning blinding white and clear closer to the weak winter sun. The tiger teddy that Philip had left by her graveside was gone, and he forced his thoughts to turn rational - presuming Phil had come back to fetch it, keep it, remind himself of Amy, instead of the more likeable chance that someone had nicked it, not understanding the importance that it held, the proof that, for Philip at least, she had been alive those last few days, and adoring of him.

 

Kieren squinted slightly and sat down carefully, making sure to stretch his legs out on the patchy grass next to the grave and card his fingers through the soil. It was wet still from the night of rain they had after the funeral and crumbly in his fingertips.

 

“Hey Amy,” he began. How to you talk to a gravestone instead of a person? With Rick it was almost second nature by now, it always was when he had first left, conversing with himself and pretending he was sat by him, laid out over his bed, arms folded behind his head and his feet propped up neatly against the headboard and listening with adoring intent to whatever bullshit Kieren was sprouting.

He couldn’t bring himself to pretend anymore after Rick died; not the first or the second time, electing instead to talk to the block of cement sticking out by his head. Now the idea of having to pretend for Amy, a person he never had to pretend about beforehand, was painful.

 

“How have you been? I’ve been alright I think…” he was ripping up single strands of grass now, twirling them between his fingers and tearing them into little pieces, and laying them carefully along the mud in rows before repeating the process.

 

“Nothing’s been right since you left, Si’s constantly on edge; he blames himself. It’s my fault though, I shoulda been there protecting you. S’me she wanted.” It was painful to say this truth aloud and it took Kieren more than a few minutes of deep breaths and sitting on shaking hands to calm himself.

 

Birds were singing in the surrounding trees, cooing and whistling to each other and filling in the background noise as Kieren waffled on to her about the funeral service and how Simon was faring and commenting politely on the fact he hasn’t seen Philip since, and how it might be because their timidly built friendship hardly survived the loss of Rick, when they were still kids, never mind Amy now.

 

It was by far over an hour when he ran out of things to go on about, it left his head reeling and chest feeling floaty and too light - like he’d just inhaled a lungful of helium. He felt this overwhelming surge of new hatred for Maxine Martin and whoever put the insane idea in her head of a second rising as he stood carefully, supporting himself on the smooth new cement of her headstone and letting the silence engulfed him. The birds had stopped singing now and it had started raining, drizzling down into his collar and steadily turning the mud he stood on soggier.

 

“I’ll see you soon, Amy.” He said bitterly before wandering off slowly, letting his hair get wet and boots wreck the soft ground as he navigated his way home to Simon. It was only after he was wiping his feet against the doormat did he realise his hands were shaking again and a steady stream of black was running from his nose and down his chin, dripping steadily onto the floor by his feet. Sighing and holding his sleeve to his nose, he dashed past Jem in the living room and straight up to the bathroom, ignoring his dad’s questions about his sudden rush.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at amyspetticoat.tumblr.com  
> Art by lehonk.tumblr.com


	3. Simon.

He was finding it increasingly more difficult to leave Kieren in the evenings after spending all day with him, and eventually his heavy, cold limbs wrapped around Simon’s waist was enough to keep him in bed all night too, not wanting to have to face the silent, still bungalow; seemingly drained of all colour now Amy wasn’t there; sitting reading and humming under her breath in her favourite armchair, or chatting to Simon while she repaired the rip in her skirts, or watching the television in the evenings, turning to Simon with worry in her eyes at the news of the recent rabid attacks, silently asking ‘how could they do that?’ and then swearing that ‘no one would ever join their cause if the loonies didn’t stop mucking up’.

 

Kieren was real though, he could be held and watched and heard and that was enough for Simon, both at night time when his dreams plagued him of the treatment centre, and his dad’s snarl, and Amy’s laughter, and in the daytime when his paranoia saw Julian in the faces of people in the streets and the Prophet standing in the shadows, watching him protect Kieren with everything he had from anyone and anything.

 

Eventually though, he had to go home to pick up clothes and his neurotryptaline without Kieren, insisting to the other boy he would be okay, kissing him on the forehead quickly before leaving while the younger was snuffling down in duvet, exhausted, not entirely conscious of what Simon was doing until he was halfway down the road, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his coat and glancing nervously at anyone on the street in case it was someone from the ULA.

 

The bungalow still had snow unmelted in the gutters and the entire place had this desolate feel. The flowers lay dead in the hanging baskets and the muddy snow shoved to the sides of the pavement by big boots and shovels reminded him of how this place would just fall to ruin. He could never stay here, not alone anyway, for any length of time. Kieren wouldn’t want to leave his family and he didn't know about Philip. He hadn't seen him since the funeral really, maybe casting a forlorn glance and a forced smile at him in the Legion once that time Jem dragged him and Kier out.

 

It was dark outside now, the clean crisp air should’ve been misting in front of his face as he exhaled pointlessly. There was very little cloud cover and the stars were shining slightly, although you could’ve almost described them as dull, weak.

 

There was no moon.

 

Shoes crunching on the ice leading up the pavement stopped when he realised the door was hung ajar. The lock was broken and hanging on by a few pieces of splintered wood, while the carpet around the doorframe lay wet and growing mould from the dampness of winter.

 

Simon’s breath caught in his throat. The lock shouldn’t be broken. Why was it broken? His teeth began subconsciously clenching and lips pressing together as he crept forward to push the door further in. The glass panelling was cracked.

 

 

It was still, silent, as he stepped into the trashed living room, the only sound his laboured breathing as his frantic eyes glanced around assessing the damage done.

 

The wallpaper was torn down in multiple places, skulls and fists spray painted badly, along with huge lettering spelling out ‘TRAITOR’ and ‘12/12’ and ‘THEY WILL RISE’ amongst twisted bible quotes scratched and scribbled in marker on the spare spaces on the walls. There was a hole in the small television set where it looked like someone had hit a bat into it. The sewn cushions Amy loved so much were torn open, feathers and goose down scattered along the floor. The loveseats were torn open too, showing the foam and filling underneath.

 

The framed photographs of Amy and her Nan were smashed on the floor, along with one of the windows, glass scattering the floor along with ash from one of his books he had left. They had torn out the pages in chunks and seemingly set fire to some of them, letting the others just float to the ground. His own copy of the Holy Bible. Simon didn’t pause to think of the irony of what they had done; being a God-fearing, Christian group.

 

They had done this, the ULA; no. He had done this. He had ruined Amy’s home, let him come into the bungalow with her and in turn he had gotten her killed.

 

He couldn’t breathe.

 

He found that the room was spilling around him. The vandalised walls curving and closing in as he choked on nothing, stumbling back against the doorframe. His ears were ringing as utter panic descended over him. He wasn't safe. He would never be safe and neither would Kieren. They would kill him. Simon would’ve killed him.

 

Simon pressed his palms over his ears as his body was wracked with an earthquake of shudders, making his feet slip out from under him and he collapsed on the floor, static panic filling every single dead nerves he gasped needlessly at the air. It was like being suffocated, but a thousand times worse, as he could never breathe again.

 

Kieren.

 

Simon’s mind was in a haze of processing what had happened, uselessly, to be quite honest, before thoughts of a certain small, thin redhead shone through the mist like a beacon, like sunlight.

 

Kieren wasn't safe. They could hurt him, kill him, if Simon wasn't there to protect him.

 

Kieren would want to know what happened, but that would mean telling him about the Plan.

 

Simon shook his head. He should know, he deserved it more so than anything. Deserved more than him, the Liar and the Traitor.

 

His legs were shaking as he braced himself against the wall, forcing himself upwards and stumbling out into the frigid night, laboured breathing and clumsy footsteps seemingly echoing in the silence. Barely-walking turned into sprinting very quickly as Simon’s panic and need for Kieren increased as fast as his disgust at what happened to Amy’s home.

 

He ran the half-mile in five minutes, and was slumping against the front door of the Walker home in what felt like no time at all, breathing hard and violently in both panic and exhaustion. It was locked, and instead of reassure him, it sent his mind into overdrive once again with a billion different possibilities why this was a bad thing.

 

He began throwing himself against the door, attacking it and hitting it with his fists like he wish he could’ve done with the Prophet and Julian and fucking Maxine Martin…

 

“Kieren! KIEREN!!” his voice was hoarse and disconnected from his body. It was this unending rhythm he was forced into until Jem opened the door, worn pink dressing gown draped over her shoulders and a pissed off expression gracing her features. She looked exhausted; almost as much as Simon felt.

 

“Simon? What is it?” She reached out a hand to pull him inside but Simon shifted away. “Want me to wake Kier?”

 

His throat was dry and raw from crying and shouting, so all he could do was nod numbly as Jem disappeared to wake her brother, leaving Simon to dawdle in the doorway, twiddling his thumbs while attempting to regulate his erratic breathing.

 

Kieren’s timid face, pale in the moonlight was looking up at him sleepily in what seemed like seconds.

 

“Simon, Jem said you wanted me?” his voice was calm, breaking the silence smoothly, but still making the sounds of his shuffling feet and rustling pajamas echo around Simon’s head in the panic.

 

“Need to go.” He choked out. “Kier- We need to-” He reached forward and snatched Kieren’s hand from where it was hung loose by his side. “We need to go. Leave Roarton, it's not safe for you here.”

 

“Safe? Simon what are you on about?” Kieren was panicking a bit now, worried for him, Simon could read it off his expression; he always liked how he could do that so easily with him, his eyebrows were furrowed and lips turned down slightly at the corners and his pale eyes widened in an animated fashion, speaking his words deliberately and with shaking breath.

 

Simon couldn’t believe how, in despite of it all Kieren looked ghostly and beautiful, the yellowed light fixture in the porch making his coppery hair gleam the colour of sunlight and his skin shine the pure whiteness of the moon.

  


It was the first time Simon kissed Kieren, instead of the other way around. It was like they’d suddenly swapped roles; Simon stumbling over his own feet and sobbing into the cold relief of Kieren’s mouth against his while Kieren’s fingers pressed into the sides of his face, leaning forward and holding Simon still, controlling his panic and soothing him with the dry pressure of his lips. He furrowed his brows and let out a shaky sigh, running his fingers along Kieren’s shirt and the unzipped jumper, fiddling with the plastic by scraping it along his thumb.

 

The kiss was briefer than Simon wanted it to be, and Kieren was soon staring at him again with broken, split pupils, pretty kissable lips turned down into a frown… God, did Simon want to kiss him again; everything was okay when Kieren was kissing him.

 

He didn’t though, he let his fingers fiddle with the plastic again, flicking it under his fingernail to make a dull clicking sound. He could feel Kieren watching him as he stepped back, dropping his hands from the younger boy’s body; slumping his shoulders and turning his eyes downward.

 

“Simon?” Kieren sounded so small, so scared and lost and little and Simon felt a new surge of self hatred at letting someone so pure be dragged into his mess. The memories of the bungalow in shambles flashed before his eyes and he instinctively flinched.

 

“I…” he exhaled shakily, “I can’t, it's not safe, Kieren please.” Why couldn’t he control himself? His voice was cracking and his eyes were itching with dry emotions again. His lungs still felt like they were stuffed with cotton wool. Wrong.

 

He couldn’t tell if Kieren was repulsed by his behaviour or concerned or angry or something else; he furrowed his eyebrows to show lots of emotions. He concluded that it must be negative and instead turned away. “I’m sorry. I’ll go. I caused it after all.” His voice felt foreign to him, which was unusual.

 

He was startled when he was stopped by Kieren grabbing on to his sleeve.

 

“Simon, please,” he breathed out. Simon couldn’t help but think that if his breath produced mist, how magical it would look curling from his lips. “Tell me what’s going on.”

 

He wished he could cry; be able to shift this heaviness laying over him and relieve the prickling under his eyelids.

 

Instead, he let Kieren lean against his side, let him sling his arms around his waist and bury his face into the loose material of Simon’s jumper. “Please.”

 

And that’s when Simon broke down.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at amyspetticoat.tumblr.com  
> Art by lehonk.tumblr.com


	4. Simon.

Simon had never let himself cling to someone like this since he was a child and his mother was holding him after a particularly horrid nightmare or when his father was spewing drunken curses in gaelic languages Simon could only half understand.

 

His hands wound in Kieren’s jumper, tugging it tight to the slim frame and his face pressed into the gentle waves of coppery hair atop his head, breathing in the soft musty smell of sleep and safety and home - a smell he had learnt only recently reminded him of his mother too. Kieren was very nurturing, and, well, Simon needed it. He knew Kieren’s body was moving while breathing, easily air carefully and pointlessly into his lungs in complete contrast to Simon's’ short, gasping breaths he tried to catch as his body shook with unshed tears and pure panic and sadness for the second time in a mere few hours. Kieren’s thin artistic fingers wound around his neck, pressing dully but securely into the exposed skin over the collar of his jumper. Simon was sensitive there because of the scar, and it sent positive sensation of pressure running through his dead nerves. It was proof that Kieren existed, proof that he was here and alive, proof that Simon still had reason to live.

 

“Simon, tell me what’s wrong.” He tried to pull away to face him but Simon’s fingers kept the younger firm against him, grappling uselessly at Kieren’s skinny body with fumbling fingers while Kieren sighed slightly into his shoulder and let the older man cling wordlessly in the silent night. It might have been raining, Simon didn’t know - he couldn’t feel his exposed face or hands, there was only Kieren’s smell- musty, cold, and something like acrylic paint, and the dull pressure at the back of his neck grounding him from the swirling abyss of clouds he constantly felt caught in since rising, since living. Kieren was his roots holding him down, protecting him.

 

“I…” Kieren shushed him before he could say any more. It was obvious to the younger boy that Simon was hurting, and well, Kieren had always been particularly good with helping people stumble their way through onslaughts of emotions.

 

“You don’t have to explain anything. I’m going to be here regardless.”

 

“I can’t believe…” Simon began again, this time Kieren didn’t interrupt so Simon just nestled his nose in the soft, warm smell. “I was going to hurt you.” He muttered darkly, repulsed with himself for even contemplating the idea. The Prophet had lied; he was so wrong, how could anything but darkness come from destroying the sun?

 

“Hurt me?!” Kieren stepped back, and Simon felt unpleasantly floaty from the sudden lack of comforting contact. No. No, no, no, Kieren had said…. It was his fault. Everything. Kieren deserved to know that at least.

 

“Kill the first risen, and they will rise again.” Simon said in a monotone, staring avidly at the loose strand of cotton on Kieren’s neck from the collar of his jumper; standing out stark against his pale skin. Simon wondered what his skin looked like when he was properly alive, whether Kieren flushed pink easily or not. If his skin was really as golden as all the photographs made it out to be.

 

“The first risen? Did the ULA tell you it was me?” Kieren’s voice broke and his hands were shaking now, uncontrollably so, while wrapped in the hem of Simon’s jumper. It broke his heart to see Kieren’s big sweet eyes stricken with fear and worry and concern over him.

 

He was a monster for ever making Kieren feel scared of him.

 

“It was my mission, to find you, find the first risen, s’why Amy and I came here.” Simon tried to look Kieren in the eye, but the younger was staring intently at somewhere behind him. It felt like rejection.

 

“You were going to kill me for them.” The truth spoken so simply in his voice hit a chord deep in Simon’s chest and if he had the strength and the functioning eyeballs, he would burst into tears.

 

“I could never hurt you. I thought-” he tried to get Kieren to look at him, he needed assurance from the younger boy that he was alright, but instead he had his head downcast, pointedly separating himself from Simon and as a result making him feel like he was free falling, only replacing all the adrenaline with pure loathing directed at himself. “I assumed the Prophet wanted to talk to you, that you were an idol or something. I thought you would take over and lead us to redemption.”

 

Kieren threw his hands up in exasperation. “You and your fucking religious bullshit! This Prophet guy’s a wacko, there’s no such redemption. I can’t believe you were going to kill me… fucking sacrificial lamb or some shit.” He was shaking.

 

If Simon could cry he would’ve been doing so at this moment. Kieren looked so appalled by him, disgusted and repulsed and every other acronym appropriate. The space between them spread for miles and Simon could hear his laboured breathing.

 

“I’m-”

 

“Don’t you fucking dare! Okay? Just…”

 

Simon didn't say any more, he let Kieren rake his fingers through his coppery hair that shone with golden light, reflecting the flickering street lamps that lined the domestic roads. He was like the sun in the night, light in all the darkness. His chest ached.

 

Kieren’s breath was coming short and fast, and Simon knew he was panicking, but he felt blocked off, he couldn’t do much without making the situation horrendously worse and it hurt him so much to know that Kieren scared of him, and that he had caused nothing but hardship in the younger boy’s life. It would be better off for him if he’d never come back, if he had never met him in the first place and let Kieren trust him. He let Amy trust him and now Amy was in the ground again - the exact place she didn’t deserve to be.

 

Kieren was shaking his head again now in seeming disbelief or anger, he couldn’t quite tell, but he wanted Kieren - sweet, precious Kieren, to be okay, so he reached out and gentle as a feather, lay his fingers over Kieren’s balled-up fists that were clenched by his sides. He flinched as if he’d been burned and in that moment shoved Simon back, making the tether in his chest snap and his ungainly dead body stumble down the steps.

 

Kieren wasn’t breathing at this point, just shaking viciously and it made Simon want to run his hands over the smaller boy, soothe and protect him but he knew at least now that Kieren was properly mad at him. Good. He deserved it. He deserved every bit of hatred and loathing and disgust for his pathetic self who dared to even think about hurting this sweet precious kid…

 

God, he was only a kid. He didn’t deserve any of this.

 

Simon wanted to be sick as Kieren clutched at his head, fingers tugging at the short strands of hair and eyes open wide, unblinking, chanting a litany of curses and phrases aimed against Simon; which sank the knife of pain deep into his chest, and the ULA in general; of which including damning the Prophet in unsavoury bitter tones.

 

Simon would’ve bothered to defend his family if they hadn’t caused Kieren so much distress in the first place.

 

“Kieren, please,” Simon’s voice surprised even himself, he sounded so small, soft words interrupting the heavy heaving noises of Kieren’s breathing. “I’m so sorry-”

 

“I _trusted_ you.” Kieren spat the words out. Past tense. He no longer trusted Simon, not that he would have any reason to, but the words and the tense both stung like bee stings down his throat and in his lungs. Simon stared, watching the small, skinny artists fingers run through Kieren’s hair again. Thin enough to belong to a pianist or a violinist. Some pretty classical instrument; or perhaps a skeleton, both were relevant enough.

 

It was this moment when the door opened again a crack and Jem’s sweet, concerned face appeared around the other side. Her forehead was creased with either worry or anger or something else, Simon couldn’t tell really, he didn’t want to take his eyes from Kieren.

 

“You guys okay?” Her voice was girlish and thick with sleep and hush in effort to not wake their parents. Maybe they’d been a little loud in their discussion, Simon couldn’t really remember. It was all Kieren.

 

Kieren was on the verge of tears.

 

“Yeah. Simon was just leaving.” Kieren said shortly. Simon thought about protesting, but just nodded numbly and watched the soft feminine lines of Jem and harsh, bony lines of Kieren disappear through the doorway and leaving him on the pathway up to their front door. He could hear hushed voices; Jem and Kieren, presumably talking about him while he stood there and breathed shallowly through his nose.

 

He was a puppet, hung in suspense and nothingness now that no one needed him; not his family, not the Prophet, not even Kieren. He was useless now.

 

His knees gave out under him and he slumped forward onto the harsh concrete, wishing he could feel his bruising knees and the cold ground through his jeans but alas that was impossible. He sat back on his haunches like a dog waiting for its master, hands on his thighs like he was back at Catholic school chanting to a God that he might’ve believed in then but after tonight, no longer served purpose in his life.

 

There was only Kieren. There was only ever Kieren.

 

He remained there for what felt like centuries, but it was realistically only a few hours, until the dawn broke over the hills of Roarton Valley and lighting up the quiet town in sunlight that Simon could only see as inadequate to Kieren’s skin and hair and smiles and kisses.

 

When there was shadows moving behind curtains and Simon could hear the kettle whistle, he stiffly rose from his kneeling position and turned, ambling cautiously, worrying fingers pulling the threads out of the sleeves of his jumper.  Every movement seemed to take decades to complete; months to blink heavily and years to let air rattle deep into his lungs. It took him what felt like a lifetime to stand and walk through the village, past the pub and the B&B and down to the train station. He had always loved trains, not as much as he had loved cars but still, anything motorised really, it helped him feel more human compared to the intricate metal and complex wiring.

 

Regardless of his love for the machines, he had no intent on leaving. Kieren was in Roarton and it was Simon’s duty to stay and to protect him, however pointless that may seem. Kieren didn’t want him around anymore because he’d endangered him.

 

The thought sent unpleasant sickness through his gut and Simon slumped down on the benches under the shelter, it would be hours before anyone arrived to work so he tucked himself up, pulling his knees to his chest in attempt to comfort himself.

 

Kieren didn’t need him, he was useless now.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at amyspetticoat.tumblr.com  
> Art by lehonk.tumblr.com


	5. Kieren.

_It was so dark. The sort of dark that you can feel right down to your core, smothering you and any pitiful noise you make in attempt to call for help. It was inescapable, like a cleverly laid trap for a poor unsuspecting animal._

_He brought his hands up to reach in front of his face - to perhaps feel his way along, and he was stopped short by something billowing in front of his face. It was easy to grasp on to but slipped from his fingers like water. He couldn’t feel it properly, only aware that there was something there. Judging by its behaviour it was a silky sort of material, like the sort Jem’s dresses were made out of. When she still wore dresses that is. He wondered where his baby sister was now, she’d only just turned fourteen, was she looking for him?_

_Kieren only registered at this moment that he was lying down. He was surrounded by more of the billowing soft cloth and he couldn’t push out against anything from where he was trapped. There was a solid surface behind most of the cloth that was unrelenting as he pushed against it. It only made him more frustrated._

_His gut was twisting almost painfully and he was slowly being taken over by pure panic as he kicked his feet up and scratched at the cloth, tearing it in his frenzy. His fingers should have been aching from what felt like the endless time it took him to crack the hard surface above his face, he didn’t care._

_He needed to get out of the box, the cage, whatever it was that was holding him. It was no relief though, because the moment he heard the solid surface groan and give under his palms, the box he had been encased in started filling up with something spilling from the crack he’d made in the lid. Dirt. It was dirt. He was underground, trapped underground. He had been buried._

_This revelation, surprisingly, did nothing to help the panic attack he found himself forced into as his hands became trapped._

_He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breath; there was only darkness and the pressing weight on his chest and face. Gasping at the air and struggling wasn’t doing anything. He was trapped. Trapped. Trapped. Trap-_

He woke to his legs and hands being tangled in his sheets, which he promptly pulled off with the same sort of wild frenzy he’d worked himself up into in the dream and lurching up to grab his small waste paper bin and vomit black sludge into it violently.

 

Not exactly the ideal way to regain consciousness.

 

He spat unceremoniously after about thirty more seconds of dry heaving - his brain oddly registering that it tasted sour and weirdly warm like nail varnish or milk that had been left in the sun all day, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand bitterly.

 

The shock of his surroundings, his childhood bedroom with the curtains left open to reveal the street outside, helped him sober up a little. He was a zombie. It was only a few weeks since his best friend had died again. It was only a few days since his boyfriend, lover, whatever Simon was, had told him he sold him out to an extremist organisation as a messiah. He was a partially deceased syndrome sufferer.

  
  


Partially deceased syndrome sufferer. The words repeated inside his head like a mantra.

 

At least he hadn’t killed anyone in that dream.

 

He placed the now full bin gingerly back on the floor and let himself sit up feeling rather worn out. His body couldn’t really be exhausted but emptying oneself of their rotting insides wasn’t exactly a pleasurable experience for anyone. Kieren’s hands were trembling again, and not just slight tremors. Spasms ran down his spine as he clenched at his bedpost with shaky fingers, making the whole headboard rattle slightly in his vice like grip to keep himself in the sitting position, bare pale toes grazing the paint stained carpet.

 

It was moments like this, where Kieren would start praying to a God he didn’t particularly believe in, for it to stop. All of it. The twisting pain of his insides and the shaking and the fact he couldn’t tell anyone about this, not now Amy wasn’t here. Simon would just worry, although thanks to his creepy covent knowledge he’d most likely know exactly what was happening and shame Kieren for not. He shook his head a little and closed his eyes. Simon sold him out to his creepy covent. He had to remember that. Simon wouldn’t care or worry about him now he wasn’t useful.

 

Although, he did save his life despite what his creepy Prophet had told him.

 

There was a gentle knock at the door which shook Kieren out of his weird trance like state of contemplating Simon’s loyalty.

 

The sound of the door opening was muffled slightly and Jem’s nervous face appeared around the door. She was timid in her movements and had one hand tucked behind her back. She stepped inside and didn’t close the door behind her, instead holding it open with her fingertips.

 

“Kier?” She asked timidly, still had her other hand behind her back, he should really find that concerning but at this point in time he didn’t really care. Focusing on his breathing as a distraction, he released his grip on the frame of his bed and examined the small nail marks left in the wood, refusing to look at his baby sister as the last thing he needed was to scare her - he knew he looked terrifying, god he understands why she disliked him deciding to not wear his coverup. He was a thing of nightmares, a monster, something to be feared.

 

“Kieren?” Her voice came again and this time it was firmer, something solid and tangible that he felt like he could’ve grabbed on to and ripped it apart with his teeth-

 

It was the safety of the gun being clicked off that snapped Kieren’s attention fully to his little sister.

 

Jem, with her fiery personality and unwavering bravery, she could do with being a little less courageous at times, knowing how often it’d almost killed her. He still didn’t look at her. She would be afraid.

 

It made Kieren want to shoot himself in the head over the idea of Jem having to be scared of him; only feeling truly safe if she keeps the colt in her room on hand in case Kieren was to burst in foaming at the mouth and attack her. He was responsible for that fear.

 

Because he was responsible for the death of her best friend.

 

“Kieren, answer me.” Jem’s voice, although shaky and nervous, was like a light in Kieren’s dazed cloudy mind. Going against every predetermined notion he turned and looked at his baby sister who either gasped in horror, in relief or some mix of the two. Her eyebrows were creased together with worry and the colt was clenched firmly in her right hand; it hung stiffly at her side in a way that wasn’t threatening, but still defensive.“Have you taken your shot recently?”

 

Had he? Of course he had.

 

He would never put his family at risk like that… Or would he? He would lie if he said the idea wasn’t at least a little bit tempting, to allow the monster what it wanted, to lose his inhibitions and sanity and allow his hunger to take over his body as well as his soul and just… consume in that raw and primal way.

 

What the _fuck_ was he thinking? He was beginning to sound like the wackjobs that thought the Undead were above the Living.

 

He nodded slowly and Jem seemed to relax a little, or at least her body language did; however, her hand still remained firmly clenched around the handle of the gun. He still couldn’t be trusted.

 

“Kier, what’s going on?” Jem sounded like a child again, shit, she was a child. His baby sister, who was technically older than him now, still on the lookout for her big brother. The thought made him want to cry and want to laugh at the same time.

 

“I don’t know.” His voice was hoarse and weary and cracked between his words. Jem was watching him carefully as he put his head in his hands and dragged in deep rattling breaths, hoping to free the sticky feeling in his throat from the bile. He heard the safety of the gun being clicked back on but for some reason that wasn’t a comfort and Jem’s soft slippers padding closer. The bed dipped under her weight and she shuffled around a bit to get comfy.

 

They sat like that for several minutes, the soft noise of Jem clicking the barrel of the gun around and Kieren’s own heavy breathing being the only things to break the silence, until Kieren looked up to make eye contact with his little sister, who was obviously trying not to stare but was seemingly struggling.

 

“Your nose is bleedin’.” She said in a sort of offhand way, gesturing to his face with the hand that didn’t have the gun resting in it. Kieren sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand for it to come away black and sticky.

 

“It seems I’m bleeding from every available orifice.” He scowled but nevertheless took the offered tissue - crumpled from being in Jem’s sleeve and cleaning his hands off before holding it up to his nose.

 

“I mean it Kier, what’s going on?” Jem asked again. Her hands were quickly curling into fists and for some reason he just wanted her to go away. He couldn’t deal with this right now, he couldn’t.

 

“I told yeh. I dunno.” His voice was muffled by the tissue and from exhaustion. Why couldn’t he just be left alone to sleep? Without nightmares of Lisa or Amy or Rick, or Jem or Simon or his parents watching him like hawks.

 

God, he was fucked.

 

“Something’s going on, I’m not stupid.” Jem said softly, but looking at him with harsh eyes. “Simon disappearing again, you acting all shifty, and this,” she gestured again to Kieren’s bleeding face, “what the fuck is going on? Tell me.”

 

“I actually don’t know, Jem.” Kieren hissed in effort to stay quiet and not wake their parents. He let his hands fall down into his lap and for the slowed black blood drip into his open palm. He didn’t care. “Amy died. Maxine Martin killed her because she thought Amy was the first risen.”

 

Jem didn’t say anything, thank god, so Kieren kept his eyes downcast, watching the careful drip, drip, drip, into his hands.

 

“Si thought I was the first risen, apparently, but I’m not. The ULA believed that killing the first risen on the twelfth hour of the twelfth day of the twelfth month was supposed to bring about the second rising. Simon was told to kill me. That’s what he was doing at the graveyard on the day of the march.”

 

“But he saved your life. He jumped in front of a fucking bullet for you.”

 

“Gary drugged me. Forced me to take Blue Oblivion and turn me rabid. It didn’t work properly though, and Simon saw this. He thinks I’m like the Undead Jesus, defeating the drug that turns us.” He rolled his eyes at this point and he saw Jem smile faintly, but concern still creased her features. “He saved me because he realised the Prophet - who’s the leader of the ULA, had it wrong.”

 

“Well shit.”

 

“Yeah, shit. Amy died for nothing, Simon betrayed a crazy religious cult and now said cult is out to kill us both, and the Blue Oblivion that was forced into my system is fucking with my body and making me eject my rotting innards.”

 

“Knew something was going on.” She shrugged.

 

“Technically, it’s all already happened.”

 

They sat in silence for a little longer until Kieren’s nose had finally stopped bleeding and Jem’s eyelids were hanging heavier with sleep. He wiped his hands and under his nose with the tissue gingerly and dropped the whole messy thing into the bin - still filled with his vomit. He reckoned the smell of dying animal it was giving off would only get worse with time. Great.

 

“Kier?”

 

“Mm?”

 

“Do you… Do you think the drugs that Gary gave you is turning you rabid? Like those immune zombies?”

 

Panic shot quickly through him, waking him up quickly because that was a possibility. The drug could still be in his system and making his shots useless. It would explain the uncontrollable bleeding and shaking thing at least.

 

He was becoming immune and rabid and he was probably going to end up killing someone. Again.

 

“Don’t use that word.” He said instead, and shifted to stand up. “Come on, you need to get some sleep. School’s in a couple hours.” Maybe he was being pushy, but if this was the case, he needed to investigate further. He should really be out looking for one of the doctors or Shirley Wilson or someone who was qualified in this crap.

 

Would they know how to help? Or would they just put him down?

 

“Alright.” Jem dropped it, and Kieren was pretty sure she could feel his gratitude. He offered his hand to her and she took it, leaving his room with a slight sleepy stumble. “You should really talk to Simon you know, I reckon he loves you.” Simon. Simon would know what was going on. She would know how they worked and if this was even possible.

 

Simon had the fucking pills to begin with.

 

“Yeah yeah, whatever, get to bed you little tike.” Kieren allowed himself to laugh a little, ease up, let Jem think it was going to be fine. Maybe she was right. Who fucking knows? Jem was smarter than anyone ever gave her credit for. She was the only one who noticed when anything was ever wrong. He could trust her to know what’s best in almost every situation. He always could.

 

“Fuck off.” Jem smiles at him before opening the door and slipping out, long dark hair clinging to her tank top and swaying slightly as she walked. It was an unspoken thing that she would probably keep the colt in her hand until morning. Kieren didn’t care. She should, at least until he could figure out what was going on.

 

Maybe he would have to kill himself again… Save someone else the task.

 

He shook his head free of the dark thoughts and instead back to bed, knowing he wouldn’t get any more sleep until he could find Simon and ask him to explain everything.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at amyspetticoat.tumblr.com  
> Art by lehonk.tumblr.com


	6. Kieren

He remembered putting the syringe together for his shot, like every morning, it was routine, like clockwork.

 

Apart from this morning, he woke up a second time, an hour or so later to a broken syringe on the floor, sticky half dried black bile down his shirt, caked around his nose and mouth and all over the floor, his desk a foot to the right, and a very worried looking Jem curled up against his door and watching him with cautious eyes.

 

He groaned, pushing himself up on one elbow and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, not knowing how he could taste the mustiness in his mouth.

 

She explained how she heard a thud through the wall and came in to see him shaking and vomiting on the floor. She looked terrified and Kieren could only thank God he didn’t attack her - which was a very real possibility

 

He presumed it was the neurotryptaline shot itself that set off the reaction; which raised the question, is this just the beginning? Would his reactions to the medicine get gradually more severe until he wouldn’t come out of the fit and would just turn mindless and rabid again?

 

As soon as he had the strength, he told Jem to get the fuck out, ignoring her hurt look and spent the next few hours curled up beside his bed in a weird state of semi-panic.

 

Then, his mother had demanded he go out, which was odd seeing as she had demanded he stay inside for months - maybe she was worried about his past mourning methods, and so he was forced out of the house to get judgemental stares as he bought bread and milk and glue sticks from the supermarket, overhearing at least three whispered conversations mentioning how they “ _didn’t think them lot needed to eat.”_

 

Kieren didn’t care, he needed to get home as fast as possible as to lessen the chance of turning rabid and attacking someone innocent.

  
  


He wasn’t particularly hunting Simon down, in a way that he supposed Simon wasn’t hiding from him. They just sort of… happened, like they had all the other times. Drifting into each other’s space like planets in orbit.

 

He was walking back, plastic bag swinging from one hand when he saw him, sat with his great coat billowed around him and his hair sticking up at the back, leaning against the crumbling wall of the old warehouse that had replaced the church, where Vicar Oddie used to hold all of his Anti-PDS talks. He almost smiled at the irony.

 

To say he looked in a bad place was a bit of an understatement. Saying that wasn’t exactly fair however, because Kieren’s own health had been declining worryingly quick - to the extent of having a full fit that morning it seemed. But Simon only seemed half awake, flickering eyelids being his only movement and the rest of his body slack and relaxed, arms resting with hands palm up on the ground beside him and knees bent so his feet could rest on the floor in a slightly weird and probably not that comfortable angle.

 

Considering Simon’s past and forgetting logic, Kieren’s mind instantly went to the conclusion that Simon was off his face high; although that wasn’t technically possible.

 

He sniffed - force of habit now after the copious amounts of nosebleeds, and while repeating in a mantra in his head that Simon is the one at fault, and he would not be weak while diverting his path instead to amble up to the older man, deliberately standing in his line of sight and casting a dim shadow over him.

 

Simon’s chin tilted up and Kieren could see how drawn his face was, how frail he looked. If his heart was beating, it would’ve stopped when Simon’s eyes met his. He looked so relieved to see him again, and it made him want to roll his eyes at the utter cliche of the moment.

 

“Hi.”

 

“I’m glad you’re safe.” Simon seemed to shrink a little, deflate, staring up at him with his piercing white eyes. Almost instantly, Kieren felt most of the fight leave him with the slow exhale of air from his lungs.

 

“You too.” He slumped down next to Simon with ease and for some reason, it felt alright. It was going to be alright because they were next to each other and alive and Simon was looking at him like he was Jesus fucking Christ again and he didn’t care.

 

“I love you.” Simon said it so unabashedly that it took Kieren aback. He was about to splutter out a ‘What the holy fuck-’ if it wasn’t for Simon catching his fingers in Kieren’s in that moment and the simple, almost naive gesture combined with their odd, perfectly alright but not alright situation made his heart swell with such emotion for the older man he was afraid it would break him.

 

Their fingers intertwined and sat in silence, the three words spoken by Simon hang heavy in the air for at least a good five minutes while Simon continues to stare at him like he created the universe and Kieren watches the road, completely deserted of people and thoroughly boring him.

 

“It doesn’t fix anythin’, kay?” He said tentatively.

 

“I know. I jus’ wan’ed you ta know.” Kieren heard the dull thud of Simon’s head hitting stone as he leaned back again. He glanced at the older man to see him with the smallest smile on his face, still watching him. It didn’t feel critical though, it felt homey, safe, knowing Simon was watching him, watching out for him, although in light of everything, it should’ve made him feel the exact opposite.

 

“Why didn’t you do it?” Kieren surprised himself by how small he sounded. Christ, he sounded so young it was almost embarrassing. Simon tugged on Kieren’s hand at this point, with an urgency that made him turn and look at Simon whose expression was almost scarily blank.

 

“Kieren, they were my family; I didn’t betray ‘em ligh’ly. But you, and I know you’ll hate me sayin’ this, but you’re a chance at redemp’ion. You’re everythin’ simple and good wi’ the world it was truly astoundin’ to see you fight Blue Oblivion like tha’.” Kieren was shaking his head at this point - he couldn’t cope, no, he didn’t want to.

 

Simon, with weak movements, tugged on his hand surprisingly sharply to get his full attention once again. “Wha’ you did… Can’t be faked. You gave me real hope… you made me believe I was human... and tha’ I have a shit taste in fam’ly.”

 

The joking comment somehow surprised a scoff out of Kieren, who yet couldn’t stop looking at Simon sadly. What had he signed them up for? Really? Because the fact was that the ULA was deadly - past attacks had proven this despite what Simon might have wanted to think about the innocence of his ‘family’ in rabid attacks. Simon, in dragging Kieren into this mess had basically signed away their already slim chance of safety and security. And to think, he was contemplating boredom in little Roarton with the new lack of drama.

 

He could worry about the fact he missed and would go far enough to say, longed for the idea of danger, later. For now, however, his jeans must’ve been getting grass stains and it was starting to rain again and he felt incredibly drained after the entire conversation.

 

“Your shit taste in family is gonna get us both killed.”

 

“I’ll keep you safe.” The statement would’ve caused Kieren to laugh again, but Simon had this utter conviction in his voice which was almost a little scary, yet it resonated something deep in his gut that knew, god forbid, that he was telling the truth. Simon would die now before daring to hurt him. He had jumped in front of a bullet after all.

 

He sighed a little and rolled his neck around until it clicked satisfyingly.

 

“Can you keep me safe from me?” And the childish voice was back. Great. Another tell he had to remind Simon to not take him seriously, because after all, he was only a kid.

 

“I don’t-”

 

“I…” Kieren interrupted, only to trail his words off; should he be telling Simon this? Would he just panic? Simon wouldn’t send him to the treatment center, not with his seemingly deep resentment of that place for reasons Kieren didn’t know but assumed were truly awful. He might bring him to the ULA yet; who knows?

 

Simon practically swore to protect him though, how would he react to knowing he would potentially have to kill Kieren to keep people safe, despite doing everything and risking their lives to do the exact opposite??

 

Would Simon not love him when he realised he was an abomination? He pulled his hands away from the other man when he realised he’d be repulsed.

 

“I’m sick, Simon,” he choked out.

 

“Sick? What’s wrong?” His gentle voice and soft eyes and concern creasing the place between his eyebrows felt only like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. That was, if he had any air in his lungs to begin with.

 

“I’ve been shaking. I can’t control it, it started just after Amy died. Then I started getting nosebleeds and- and, this morning I passed out when I took my neurotryptaline. Jem… she said I was shaking real bad, like I was having a fit or something. I think…” another deep breath, “I think I might be becoming immune. I’m going rabid.” His own voice had gone very quiet, to the point where he couldn’t quite tell if he was speaking the words aloud or inside his own head.

 

“Kieren, it’s alright.” Simon’s voice wasn’t cold, per say, but it was cool and relieving, like fresh air at night or a damp cloth over your forehead when you’re sick.

 

“It’s not alright.” He only just realised that he’d clenched his hands into shaking fists as his nose had dripped to create a tiny pool of black on the leg of his jeans. He couldn’t- He didn’t want to hurt anyone, which he would do, and then they’d have to put him down like a dog-

 

“It is. I know the tells, as I’m sure you do too.” His hand came up, jumper sleeve pulled fully over his fingers to dab at Kieren’s nose, holding it underneath as to not let any more blood drip down. “I’ll stay with you. You’ve defeated it once, Kieren, it’s all going to be alright.” Was he being naive for trusting Simon again so easily? Was Simon being a fool for thinking everything was going to be okay? Kieren didn’t know anymore.

 

“Come on then,” He said shakily, making a move to stand up, half pulling Simon with him. “I’m taking you home, Mr Disciple. You’ll take care of me, right?” He laughed, but it was entirely humourless.

 

Simon followed him. He had a feeling he always would now. Simon would follow Kieren to the ends of the earth.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at amyspetticoat.tumblr.com  
> Art by lehonk.tumblr.com


	7. Simon.

“I’m not going back there Kieren.” His voice was steadfast and actually kind of cold to his own ears; despite this he could feel Kieren rolling his eyes from where the younger boy stood, putting away plates across the tiny kitchen.

 

Simon had insisted helping around the Walker household recently, feeling as if he needed to act on his regret and do all available household chores, including help wash up with Kieren.

 

“She left the place to you, Simon. Might as well use it,” the way he said it made it sound so simple, like the entire place, Amy’s place, wasn’t trashed, decontaminated and ruined forever.

 

“You haven’t seen it.” He shuddered involuntarily and almost dropped the plate he had clutched in his hands, which he had been previously drying off with a rag. The images his brain had captured were burned on the insides of his eyes, and now they were swimming in front of his vision. Amy’s Nan’s carefully hand stitched cushions shredded and the wallpaper torn to pieces with his fucking religious shit carved into the walls. It was his fault.

 

He had got her involved.

 

He couldn’t exactly feel it, but he knew it was happening as Kieren prised the plate from his grasp and moved it aside, being steady in his movements (well, steady as a person with the chronic shakes could be) as he reached up the suddenly short distance and placed his palm gingerly on the side of his face, letting the other rest on his neck in the way that Kieren had mastered - sending dulled pressure sensations rocketing through his brain in the weird way that they did.

 

It was suddenly so much easier to breathe. It was like Kieren was a magic cure all. His new drug; although he knew the younger boy would despise him for calling him such. Simon knew realistically he wasn’t, but that's certainly what it felt like, especially since their fight a couple of days previously, and time progressed to Simon truly not knowing how to cope without Kieren there with him.

 

This persuasive ability over Simon is somehow during a mumbled conversation stood in the kitchen right then and there led Simon to believe that going back to Amy’s with Kieren to fix it properly would be a good idea, restore her memory.

 

Plus, then Kieren had said, Simon could move in there properly. He would have a home in Roarton and Kieren could stay with him most of the time and they wouldn’t have to worry about Kieren’s parents or Jem constantly moving and doing things around them both. It was unspoken that it would be safer for the rest of the Walkers too, as they still had no idea how to fix Kieren.

 

They could have a home, like Amy used to have there with her Nan.

 

It was a scarily precious thought that how Kieren and he could be safe holed up and protected in the bungalow; it would only be them with Jem dropping in every other week - forcing them to keep biscuits and tea bags in the cupboard. They could be domestic and happy and safe.

 

Like hell they could. The ULA and the Prophet were out for blood, no wishing and hoping could change that. But he could hope.

 

“We’ll sort it out.” Kieren said the words like a promise to Simon’s prayer, before resting his hands flat on Simon’s shoulders and raising himself upwards to peck his cheek - a habit the younger boy had gotten into over the past couple of days that Simon positively adored.

 

Maybe they would.

 

It took a while for him to warm to the idea completely, but it was still only a few days until Kieren was waking him up with a shake and a kiss on the forehead once he was coherent.

 

“We’re gonna need to assess the damage before we can fix it up properly. D’you wanna come?” He was crouched nervously by the side of the bed as he rubbed his eyes and blinked blearily at the younger’s wide eyes and worried expression. He was biting his lip.

 

“Might as well.” He tried to say it nonchalantly but his voice trembled slightly. He played it off as sleepiness as he leant up and used the tip of his thumb to prise Kieren’s bottom lip from his teeth. “Tha’s a bad habit. You can’t heal now.”

 

Kieren pouted up at him and Simon felt the sudden rush of affection he had come to associate with the younger boy, making his mouth pull up into a fond smile and the deep warmth curl in his gut like a sated creature. If he had a pulse, it would probably slow, and his mind, wipe itself blissfully blank. “Don’t remind me Mr Serious, up! We need to be off!” He jumped to his feet with a sort of energy Simon had never seen. It reminded him of Amy suddenly.

 

He wondered absentmindedly if Kieren had been bouncy and energetic and childish before his death, or rather, the events leading up to his death. Was he a quiet child, or was he obnoxious? Could he have spent his days roaming the moors with Rick and Jem and other school friends or was he more reserved; had he sat inside and watched cartoons while happily eating some chocolate filched from the sweetie drawer?

 

He made the decision to ask Jem about it someday while pulling his jumper over his head and carefully folding his pajamas. She was probably the only one left who wouldn’t find his curiosity weird.

 

The thought was incredibly sad.

 

In the midst of Simon’s distracted pondering, Kieren grabbed his hand in his two and smiled up at him gently. “Come on, it’s gonna be fine.”

 

Simon didn’t believe him really, but who was he to crush his dreams?

 

He didn’t particularly want Kieren to see him break down like that again; the younger boy didn’t need that.

 

They left the house about fifteen minutes later and meandered down the road to the bungalow. Simon’s fingers grazed over the fences and walls and signposts as they walked past them, taking comfort in the repetition even if he couldn’t feel any of the surfaces. Kieren’s hands were shoved deep in the pockets of his hoodie, and he hummed in time with his own uneven limping steps.

 

Simon himself, in attempt to distract himself from his looming fate, came up with various reasons that Kieren might have such a limp. It was kind of made clear that he had gained it only after the rising, so maybe he had injured it while roaming around untreated? Or had it been a childhood injury that had left the bone weak, and therefore quicker to rot in the grave? Or maybe he’d always had a slight limp and it had just been exaggerated due to the fact he could no longer feel where he placed his feet down.

 

They arrived at the bungalow far too soon for his liking.

 

The door still stood slightly ajar, with the hanging lock still clinging to the wall by a few splinters. Kieren scanned his eyes over the cracked glass panes and the broken door before turning to Simon.

 

“Wanna wait out here?” Kieren’s voice was small, and although he knew he should overcome it and just go inside; be strong for Kieren, he was relieved that he had asked, and took little to no time nodding a steady ‘Yes’.

 

Simon felt a little more guilty when, only just after Kieren walked in, he could hear the audible exhale and the slight shuffling around of the younger boy’s discomfort in the room; his discomfort around all the propaganda and the bible bullshit.

 

It was only about a minute until Kieren remerged, looking thoroughly shaken and clutching a pen and one of the shredded envelopes from the floor - Amy had liked to keep them in the drawer because apparently her Nan used to use them to make shopping lists.

 

“It’s not good.”

 

“No.” Simon agreed.

 

“We’ll fix it though, for her.” Kieren looked less carefree now, more determined. His teeth were clenched and his hands shaking again – they were doing that a lot lately, or maybe he was just noticing it more now Kieren had told him about it. He didn’t let himself consider the danger of Kieren becoming immune. He was the first risen; nothing really bad could happen, right? “Here,” his voice interrupted Simon’s train of thought. “Write down a list of what we’re gonna need. I would, but...” He raised one hand flat in front of him so Simon could see the violent tremors.

 

Simon brought his own fingers up to hold Kieren’s wrists still – mindful of the open scars just under his jumper, and kiss his palm briefly, before taking the pen and paper and dutifully writing out the list of kit they would need to properly fix the bungalow up – which Kieren reeled off from the top of his head. Simon tried to concentrate on keeping his writing legible; something quite difficult now he couldn’t fully control his fingers.

 

“We could get mum to try and fix some of the cushions, but most of everything will have to be binned.”

 

“Amy would hate us forever.”

 

“I know.” They shared timid smiles. It felt wrong, to talk about Amy like they were, but okay at the same time. They weren’t forgetting her, they were simply moving on from sadness. She constantly made point to chastise them for being mopey anyway, she was bound to be the same way over her own absence.

 

After loitering in the doorway for a bit longer, aimlessly conversing, Simon handed the pen and paper back to Kieren and pushed the door open slightly, listening to the creak it made with slight satisfaction.

 

“We better get started?” He posed the statement like a question, and Kieren’s wide eyed expression melted into a small smile. Of course he was scared of the place and what the ULA had done, but the younger boy’s determination to fix up the bungalow in Amy’s memory had set alive that addictive passion deep inside of him that made him need to complete things and do things properly. Amy was his friend. She deserved his service like this.

 

It took them days. So long that Simon was beginning to resent the building itself for having so many nooks and for being trashed so thoroughly.

They worked through the living room, sorting and binning most of the ruined books. Simon spent the next day, when Steve had helpfully brought up some old plaster and wallpaper glue and tools in the car, Simon set about covering the scratches and painting over the revelations carved into the walls. It felt like a cleanse and he supposed it was to a certain extent. Kieren spent this time using patches of rags and some cotton to put his minimal sewing skills to the use and neatly repair the sofas where they could be and patch it up.

 

“Amy would like it, it’s all topsy-turvy.” He had joked; Simon had only smiled weakly in response and continued to paint.

 

Kieren was right when he had said most of Amy’s Nan’s needlepoint cushions couldn’t be salvaged, so instead Kieren just grouped them together in a pile in a paper bag. Neither of them had the heart to bin them.

 

That was the main problem, actually. The bungalow was overflowing with Amy’s things. Possessions and dresses and books and everything else you could possibly think of that Amy would’ve owned. When they came to Amy’s bedroom, Simon wouldn’t let himself inside. This was Amy’s space. The ULA violated that. He caused that.

 

Kieren went in and scrubbed the walls of marker and changed the torn sheets for ones found in the cupboard. He was a coward. He sat in the corner on the floor of the living room and played with the hem of his jumper until it was over. Kieren shifted all of Simons stuff out of that room and the rest of Amy’s belongings that had been left around the bungalow, in.

 

The door was locked and that was that.

 

There was a room that was seemingly Amy’s Nan’s. There was nothing in the cupboards or wardrobe and no pictures on the walls. Simon knew she died within the time of Amy’s death and when the war finished, and he told Kieren so. Someone, who knows who, cleared out her room and binned everything before Amy came home.

 

Simon didn’t want to think about how that must’ve been for Amy. He didn’t want to think of much of anything, to be honest.

 

The bare little room was made up and Simon’s bag was put at the foot of the bed.

 

“She left it to us.” Kieren reminded him. “It’s your home now, if you want it.”

 

“I don’t want to stay here without her.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Will you stay here with me?”

 

“Okay.” That was that, too, it seemed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at amyspetticoat.tumblr.com  
> Art by lehonk.tumblr.com


	8. Kieren.

The bungalow, now they had gone through and cleaned and sorted everything, was steadfast becoming their little home. It was still painfully empty because it was in fact Amy’s house, therefore her missing presence seemed wrong, and neither of them could stay alone in the house without freaking out, and it did feel a bit of a lie to sleep curled up in Amy’s Nan’s old bed, however they instead, on the wet, cold days of early February where the wind was rattling the windowpanes, took to sitting across from each other in the small living room, Kieren with sketchbook in hand and Simon with a book in his. It was peaceful, easy; that and Kieren ran no chance of hurting anyone if he suddenly turned. Something which comforted the younger boy extremely, especially as his family had been exceedingly jumpy after the whole mess on the twelfth, even though it had now been weeks and the entire mess had supposedly sorted itself out.

 

Everyone, out of the two of them, thought him safer in the bungalow with each other for company.

 

Kieren’s fingers were soft over the drawing he’d started of Simon today; most of them were incomplete – features missing, shading nonexistent, and the most basic of line art – and were to be finished properly at a later date, but today Kieren had told Simon - who had sat opposite him as per usual in his favourite armchair where he used to sit while talking to other Undead, deliberately not to move until he said so. Simon had laughed fondly and done as asked, setting into the armchair comfortably with his feet tucked underneath him like a cat. He seemed to find it amusing to really test his anatomy knowledge, or lack thereof.

 

His fingers smoothed over the paper, smudging at the shadow he’d made under drawing-Simon’s eye, and he stopped.

 

“Simon,” his voice sounded hoarse to his own ears. Thick. He moved his fingers over the drawing paper again, feeling the ridges and bumps of it. The grain of how it was seemingly stitched together. He could feel it. “Simon.” He said this time a little more desperately. Simon looked up from his book and did the whole innocent, eyebrows raised curious face. Kieren stammered. “I-I think, I don’t, I,” His hands were shaking so much he thought he was going to drop his sketchbook. His fingers were so tight around his pencil he thought it might snap in two. He revelled in the feeling of the ridges digging into his palm.

 

At this point Simon had scrambled up and was kneeling in front of him, hands coming up to rest over his own gently, stilling him. Kieren could feel the weight, and the callouses on the ends of his fingertips from old burns. It was real and reassuring and it was amazing. The rough skin and gentle meaning behind the touch was Simon, through and through. He wondered, in the middle of it all, how he’d known Simon beforehand, without touch.

 

“Kieren? What is it?”

 

He reached up and brushed his fingers over Simon’s cheek lightly, knowing the other man couldn’t feel it but he could. Everything was alight with electricity and it felt like his very fingertips were sparking. He repeated the action of smoothing delicately over Simon’s cheekbone, taking into consideration the feel of his soft skin, worn ever so slightly over the years with age and the drugs he had taken. He could tell where, under his skin, the bones pressed against, where the tight tendons were positioned, the rough dark hairs cut short under his skin, where his stubble hadn’t grown in in years.

 

He was like snow, crystalised in stoic movement, but again like a star, because Kieren could feel the air between them burning up in light and hope and wonder held seamlessly in their shared gaze. Simon clenched his jaw and Kieren could feel the bone shifting as the joint tightened, and how the flesh moved seamlessly in time with that. He felt so delicate in Kieren’s hands, so real and alive, apart from…

 

“You’re so cold,” he breathed out, and Simon stared, clever little cogs turning in his brain as the pieces fell together.

 

Kieren could feel it, sense it. His nerves were working and they were allowing him to feel sensation for the first time in years and Kieren himself looked like he was about to cry and Simon was pretty sure he was the same way himself.

 

In half an instant, Simon leant up to the younger boy and kissed him, timidly brushing his lips against his. Kieren felt his head pounding with the adrenaline rush as he grabbed Simons face to keep him close, letting his lips memorise the feeling of the older man’s; chapped slightly, cold and dry, but so soft and kind and gentle with him as Kieren sobbed into the kiss, lips tingling with the feeling of all the energy burning in the air around him, only to freeze again when coming into contact with Simon. It was the oddest sort of oxymoron; it was fucked up and weird and beautiful.

 

Kieren’s shaky fingers hold on to Simon’s hair, sliding dark, soft, smooth clumps of it through his fingers. The pressure of Simon everywhere combined with the sensations of textures and the way Simon’s body shook was driving him insane. He could feel Simon , freezing his body up but he didn’t care one bit because he could feel it all.

 

“You’re amazing. You’re unbelievable.” Simon whispered as if in prayer, and he supposed he was. This was his Kieren, extraordinary Kieren, who could feel every touch and breath and kiss like he was Living, but he wasn’t, he was as dead as Simon and that’s exactly what was so bizarre. Kieren himself just clung on to the back of Simon’s head, keeping him close and trying not to sob while Simon worshiped him, kissing his cheeks tenderly and letting the small boy run his hands over him.

 

“You’re incredible, Kieren.”

 

“I’m not going rabid.”

 

Simon laughed breathily, and Kieren quickly shifted one hand to rest on his chest as so he could feel the air moving through his body; the movement of his laughter rumbling deep through him – like he had absorbed the other man’s joy.

 

It was surreal in a sense that Kieren couldn’t bear to move his fingers away from Simon, like he was a power force somehow. His jumpers that, although they looked soft, were scratchy and rough, his skin which was not entirely smooth, soft on his cheeks and slightly thicker and more weathered on his chin and nose, his hands were coarse and yet incredibly gentle with how he was touching Kieren back, his calloused fingertips grazing over his own jaw and neck sending shivers down his spine.  He was so, so cold, so much so it was almost painful, however Kieren was drawn into it magnetically.

 

Kieren lent in to kiss Simon again, letting the sensation fill his mind, surround his thoughts and being until there was only the thought of Simon and getting closer to him with such a need it would’ve been thought of as primal.

 

Something else was at the back of his mind, however.

 

“I want to touch more stuff.” He practically giggled, after pulling back from the kiss so their noses were brushing. He was heady; positively high on sensation and contact. Kieren stumbled up, Simon grasping his shoulders so he wouldn’t fall over in haste as he reached his fingertips to the walls.

The lumpy, squidgy wallpaper and the bumpy paintwork were examined thoroughly by the palms of his hands. The table was varnished and sleek, smooth apart from old ridges and scratches where someone had perhaps caught another object on it. He recognised the indents from a set of keys with his tracing fingers. He was laughing, or smiling at least, and his face hurt from it. He could feel that too.

 

“Kieren?” The voice snapped him out of his daze. “Are you alrigh’?”

 

“I’m... so good.” He swallowed. His mouth was dry after not drinking for years on end. That was felt too. “Everything’s so good.” Simon smiled at him. “I need to tell Jem.”

 

“Wanna head over to yours then?” Simon’s voice was steady, surprisingly, yet still rather timid. Kieren wanted to thank him for at least acting level headed and let him dance around the room like a child.

 

“Yes. Let’s go outside. Is it still raining?” His eyes stretched wide as he rushed past Simon to get to the windows (holding his hands firm on the windows to feel the frost), as he peered outside. He was laughing again and he could feel his insides moving as he exhaled air onto the windows. The glass didn’t fog up like it would’ve if he was alive.

 

He rushed to pull his boots on; not bothering to tie the laces and instead opting to just shove them down the sides in his haste, and grabbing his coat from the hook.

“Come on come on come on!” He rushed Simon, who was smiling in that way – when his eyebrows were furrowed and his lips spread thin and eyes crinkled in fondness, before yanking open the door and stepping out into the rain.

 

It wasn’t actual rain so much as thick mist, dampening his hair and skin the second he stepped outside. It clung to his skin, opening his pores and wetting his face with a cold, soggy blanket of air. He laughed aloud and spun on his heels.

“It feels so weird!!” The drizzle stuck to the inside of his mouth as he stuck out his tongue to feel the cold drops, letting the moisture absorb into his mouth, revelling in the feeling that he no longer felt like he was chewing sand.

“Don’t do tha’, you’ll make yerself sick.” Simon chastised, nudging him out of the doorway once he’d pulled on his own great heavy parka and Old Man shoes.

Kieren grinned and skipped up the path, dragging his fingers along the low garden walls and pulling leaves off the bushes, letting the rainwater drip down his palms and off his fingertips and tearing apart the rubbery waterproof leaves.

 

Simon walked behind him, quietly, with the same overly sentimental smile as he laughed aloud and let the rain drip into his hair and cleanse him. He felt so clean. It was like a layer of dust had been scraped off his flesh leaving him raw and sensitive.

 

He stopped at the driveway, letting his hands rest on his mum’s car’s bonnet – it was smooth, unnaturally so, like glass but more robust – before turning to Simon. Thoughts were buzzing around his head and now the initial shock of feeling again had worn away, he had begun to worry.

 

“What if they want to send me back to Norfolk again?”

 

“I won’t let them.” The way his voice was filled with such conviction and certainty made Kieren reach out to grab his hand, colder than snow and like worn leather at the palm, and walk towards the front door, which he traced over carefully, feeling the grain before pushing it open far enough to walk inside.

 

“We’re home.” He called out. His voice wavering and his entire body was shivering. The air was so much thicker inside, warmer and more welcoming than the air outside. He never thought he would notice the air this much.

They stepped from the little porch to the living room to where Steve was sat, watching some sort of film. Kieren dropped Simon’s hand to instead stagger forward, reaching out to grab the sofa, feeling how different the material was from the coarse canvas of the sofas at the bungalow.

 

“Kier? Y’Alright?” Steve looked up quickly upon their entrance. Kieren smiled, his whole face aching, which only seemed to confuse Steve more; his brow creasing with worry.

 

“Kieren, Simon, didn’t expect you two back so early.” Sue came in from the kitchen holding two cups of tea, presumably for Steve and herself. Kieren wanted to hold them – feel the heat and the chipped ceramic... “You look happy,” she observed, bustling with putting the cups down.

 

“I can feel again.” He said in a rush.

 

“What was that, love?” His mum looked confused now. Kieren didn’t understand. They should be ecstatic with him.

He laughed and stepped forward, reached out to her, catching his fingertips on the incredibly fluffy cashmere of her cardigan, before pulling his mum into a tight hug. She was soft, in the way mum’s tend to be, and warm; oh god was she warm, letting out this radiating heat and seemingly de-icing his hands. He swayed in the hug. He could feel his mum chuckling awkwardly, the way her breath shifted and her pulse beat steady under her skin. “You feeling alright, Kier?”

 

_“I can feel.”_

 

“What’s that mean, son?” His dad butt in and Simon took this moment to step forward to explain while Kieren took his mum’s hands in his own and felt the soft creases and smooth nails and the way the veins stuck up against her skin with age. She was so, so soft and so, so warm. It was baffling.

 

“Kieren was getting weird symptoms. He thought, we both thought, after he was forced to take Blue Oblivion, that he might have still had the drug in him and was causing things like nosebleeds. It turns out it was symptoms for his body somehow... healing itself.” Simon muddled through his words, looking uncomfortable in his surroundings and under Kieren’s parent’s gaze, so the younger boy cut in, having let his mum sit down now but keeping close hold on her hand, letting her warm him.

 

“I thought I was becoming immune to my meds, but instead its like I’m coming back to life.”

 

“It’s like Amy.” Simon said quietly.

 

“We were under the impression everything was dandy now, shouldn’t you be seeing a doctor about this? Russo or someone?”

 

“No, Dad, don’t you get it?” Kieren’s voice got higher with his excitement. “This is amazing. I can feel, this means my brain is doing the right shit for once! If everything fixes itself its gonna be like I never died!” He flailed his arms a bit and Simon watched how his eyes grew big and his jaw clenched as he rambled through his words. Somehow, Kieren was still grinning. “I need to tell Jem.”

 

He took off up the stairs leaving Simon to awkwardly loiter with his parents.

 

“Should we be worried?” Sue asked, eventually, seeming a little shocked by the whole ordeal.

 

“No. It’s going to be alright now.” Simon’s voice was thick. He was honest to god happy for the first time in years and it was for Kieren Walker. It was also the first time in years that Simon actually believed in the fact that yes, everything was going to work out fine.  They were going to be fine.

 

 

Kieren’s chest was warm. It’s like his very soul had been lit on fire again. He was so warm because of the heating in the house and he grinned with everything he had; like he couldn’t keep the happiness inside. He knocked frantically on the door to Jem’s room and he bounded in like an overeager puppy the second she said “Come in.”

 

“Jem!”

 

“Kier!” She mocked his excited tone, only briefly looking up to glance at him, before turning her eyes back to her geography notes.

 

“Jem! I’m, I, it’s...” He babbled. It was only when his little sister looked up with a subtle frown on her features did he finally bounce towards her and pull her upwards off her bed – not being able to stand the lack of contact with anyone for any longer.

 

She was warmer than Simon, but her fingers were cool and slightly damp from the exertion of copying out schoolwork. Her fingers were calloused, but only on her index, thumb, and middle finger on her right hand. The rest were smooth, bar the rough skin from the bitten down nails that Kieren ran his finger over in amusement.

 

“I can feel.”

 

“Holy shit, really?” Jem’s hands clenched his quickly and Kieren laughed aloud at the pressure.

 

“Yeah, I can feel. It’s like I’m-” He froze again for a second time that day, stilling his rocking and the movement of his fingers on Jem’s hands while he processed the new feeling that was vibrating deep in his chest; a steady thump, thump, thump...

 

“Kier?”

 

“My heart, I think my heart is beating. I’m coming alive.”

 

Jem screamed in excitement; and Kieren laughed obnoxiously as she pulled him in close for a hug – something she hadn’t done in a long time, letting their heartbeats thump in their respective chests, in tune with each others’ excitement almost perfectly.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at amyspetticoat.tumblr.com  
> Art by lehonk.tumblr.com


	9. Simon

The snow crunched underfoot as Kieren – now wrapped up in an increasing number of scarves as the next few days wore on, with him feeling the cold a little more unpleasantly each day after his sudden coming alive. He currently looked a bit like a turtle but Simon found it too adorable as the younger man twirled on the ice which was making the pavement sparkle, attempting to catch snowflakes in his mouth.

 

“Be careful!” He warned quickly as Kieren stumbled slightly before righting himself.

 

“You’re acting like such a worry wart!” Kieren stuck his tongue out, not even recognising that he was quoting Amy more and more now. It was fine by him. Kieren was still Kieren, and happy Kieren acted a lot like nervous Amy – all bumbling and silly chastising phrases.

 

Kieren himself had changed a lot physically over the past couple of days; his hair had gained a pretty coppery shine, becoming a brighter ginger and falling neatly over his face in an adorable, youthful way. It looked so soft. His eyes had darkened considerably quickly, so much so that Simon thought he was high. His natural brown eyes a lot richer a colour than what the contacts had shown, like dark treacle. Simon found himself eager for whenever Kieren looked at him so he could just stare shamelessly at the dark, swirling colours. His skin had become far less translucent – his veins could only be seen on his eyelids and temples now – and he had taken to turning pink on his nose and the apples of his cheeks.

 

His ears also turned an adorable shade of red when they kissed and his lips turned a darker shade as he bit at them and he squeaked as he shivered when Simon had taken to tracing little patterns on his wrists.

 

The scars on his wrists had had to be bound by Jem quickly after Kieren’s heart started beating, as whatever was acting as his blood would have just poured out. He replaced the bandages every day to keep track of how he was healing and Simon only assumed that it was going well.

 

 

The bungalow was quiet and Simon was marginally distracted by Kieren rambling about how he was going to try to paint this and that because he hadn’t actually painted since he died-

 

Julian, flipping through an out of date newspaper, looked up as Simon walked in. His pale skin was pasty and unclean. His jacket was thin and his shoes scuffed. He was sat in Amy’s seat – the loveseat backed up to the wall next to the armchair that Simon had claimed. The one that had been scribbled over so much that the cushions had to be completely replaced. It filled Simon with such a rage he was blinded momentarily. He could vaugly feel Kieren stepping behind him in fear as he shook in anger. He didn’t want to be fearful of his family any longer.

 

“Ah, brother, I was wondering if you still lived here-”

 

“You have no right to be here, Julian.” His own voice was shaking. He was tapping his fingers against his leg and he knew just on principle that Kieren was shivering behind him.

 

“Who are you?” Kieren sounded far braver than Simon and he had to admire him for that. However, Julian ignored him and Simon was far too occupied panicking about the fact he was even there in their tiny living room.

 

“It seems you patched this place up quite well. You know that was only the start of it, Simon.”

 

“There was never going to be a second rising, you know that Julian.”

 

“Maybe, but you betrayed us, we were your family,” Julian had stood up now and stepped towards them. Simon flinched, “and now you chose to spend your time with pulse-beating sluts.” He hissed his words and Simon went blind with anger again.

 

“No, Julian. My family never would have asked me to kill. Especially when it was someone you knew I loved. Kieren, this is Kieren.” He took hold of Kieren’s hand and brought him forward so Julian could look at his cheeks, flushed from the outside cold, and the peachy colour of his hair and the whole living presence he had. “I thought he was the first for a while but see? He’s alive, Julian. He came back alive. He wasn’t the first to do this. This happened to my friend, our friend, Amy Dyer before. But she was murdered by some raving fucking lunatic who thought they were bringing about a SECOND RISING. THERE NEVER WAS GOING TO BE A SECOND RISING OF THE DEAD.”

 

He was breathing heavily and Julian stood looking blankly at him.

 

“Simon?” Kieren was tugging gently at his hand to get his attention. He turned slowly to meet Kieren’s watery eyes. It was soothing almost scarily quickly and Simon felt bad for shouting in front of him, for making him cry.

 

“Is this true, boy? You were Undead?” Julian was scarily expressionless as he stared at Kieren.

 

“Yes. It’s all true. Amy, she was in one of your convent things. She came alive on the twelfth, just before she was killed.” Kieren glared at Julian as he stepped back to grab a hold of the sofa to keep his balance.

 

“The second rising is the undead being redeemed.” He said faintly. “Why did the Prophet not know?”

 

“Because the Prophet is a fake,” Simon said levelly, “I reckon he wants us all dead.”

 

“He wouldn’t-“

 

“He would. When was the last time you heard from him?” He couldn’t care less about being harsh right now. Julian needed to understand the truth.

 

“I...” He covered his face with his hands, “Oh God.”

 

Simon forgot Kieren momentarily in order to step forward and clasp firm hold on Julian’s shoulder - letting the dull pressure and security comfort his brother as he heaved deep breaths into his dead lungs.

 

“It’s okay,” Simon murmured softly as Julian rested on him, “You’ll be okay, there’s more than the Prophet, he doesn’t matter anymore.” He said everything he wished he had heard when doubt had first entered his mind about the ULA.

 

“Simon… What have we done?”

 

“We were scared, brother, it’s all in the past.” The words seemed to comfort Julian slightly and after a few moments of standing, clinging to each other, they separated. Simon’s eyes went instantly to Kieren who was blushing slightly and looking incredibly awkward stood by the door, hands in his pockets. Simon smiled at him and was relieved to see him smile back softly.

 

“I’ll leave you two to talk politics.” He kicked off his boots and wandered through to the kitchen. After a few moments Simon heard the kettle start as Kieren made himself something warm to drink - one of the new latest developments of his coming alive; drinking. He hadn’t dared try anything solid yet however.

 

“What should we do, Simon?” Julian turned to him rather desperately.

 

“I don’t know, Julian, what can we do?”

 

“We need to stop the Prophet. We need to stop the attacks on the living.”

 

They moved to sit down - Julian back in Amy’s seat and Simon in his normal armchair - as they continued the discussion. After another minute or so, Kieren wandered back in with a mug of hot chocolate in his hands. He sat down in front of Simon’s chair, obviously wanting to be close to Simon in fear of being attacked yet, stretching his legs out and sipping his drink. It smelled sickly sweet from where Simon was sat.

 

He leant forward to play with Kieren’s hair fondly as he resumed the conversation with Julian.

 

“You need to talk to the other disciples before we do anything else,” Simon told him, “they won’t trust me. In fact, mention my contribution as little as possible.”

 

“Sounds like a plan, however, we’re going to have to visit the communes as quickly as possible to prevent more disasters. They’ve been acting individually and bringing upon themselves to organise rabid attacks despite everything.”

 

Kieren went tense under Simon’s touch so he took to smoothing down and petting Kieren’s hair in attempt to wordlessly convey that they were alright.

 

“When are you going back to the city?” Simon quickly moved the conversation on.

 

“It depends. Matt and Sofie are waiting for me, what should I tell them?” Matt and Sophie were two of the original disciples Simon met. He had heard of them but having been separated for so long, they didn’t speak.

 

“It must be a big deal if everyone’s congregating again.”

 

“You two caused quite a stir.” Julian laughs fondly, although he seems tense. Simon knew without looking that Kieren was glaring at him, which Julian himself didn’t pay any notice to. Kieren had no reason to like Julian after all. “You should probably come with me to meet them, Simon, explain yourself.”

 

“Probably, I mean, we’re going to have to get the word out about the… change of plans about the second rising quickly, so no one goes into panic.” He stroked Kieren’s hair more firmly at that. He could feel the appreciation in Kieren’s quick shift to look up at him to smile.

 

“I don’t want anyone panicking like Amy and I did. People will try to kill themselves.” Kieren said it with a determined little nod before sipping from his drink.

 

Simon instantly felt sick at the mere thought of Kieren feeling like that. Again. He shuddered.

 

“Okay. I’ll go ahead, anyway. Tell them beforehand before you can meet us in the city and we’ll begin sorting out how we’re going to sort the nutters from the actual ULA. If they take it badly, you stay put and I’ll… do something. We’ll deal with it another way.” Julian seemed content with this plan and Simon had to agree it seemed like a good way forward.

 

They sat chatting, catching up for a while and Kieren described the first symptoms of ‘warming up’ to Julian so he would be aware of it happening to him, before they exchanged telephone numbers and Julian went on his way to the train station, bidding them a cheery farewell and good luck.

 

“That was better than I expected our run in with the ULA to go.”

 

“That’s only the start.” Simon shook his head. “We’ve got a way to go yet.”

 

At any rate, it was something. It was good to know that Julian was on their side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at amyspetticoat.tumblr.com  
> Art by lehonk.tumblr.com


	10. Kieren.

Things seemed to have settled down over the days following Julian’s surprise visit. Simon had visibly relaxed and had stopped following Kieren around obsessively, and had instead taken to constantly mumbling under his breath and smiling at Kieren in a way he had never seen him do before - bright, youthening, lighting up his white eyes and smoothing out his forehead from the ever present worry lines. 

Simon was leaving again, but this time Kieren knew exactly where he was going, how to contact him if anything happened (they had both invested in a mobile phone for the first time in half a decade), and most importantly, was happy in the departure.

Not in a nasty way of course, Simon still adored Kieren and Kieren still… was learning to love Simon, not just depend on him, but Kieren was glad that Simon could go, see his family again, sort out the mess with the ULA and hopefully grow a bit more as a person, know he doesn’t have to depend on anyone, least of all a terrorist organisation or god forbid Kieren, any more. 

Kieren himself was surprisingly calm nowadays, and as the snow started melting and the air gained the damp, fresh feel of spring, things seemed to begin to look up. He started painting again, actually painting; letting his hands and arms and clothing get covered in oils or acrylics as he used himself as a mixing palette, the various greens, blues, reds and yellows smearing out over his pale skin.  
His wrists had almost entirely healed, leaving only cracked dark brown scabs that barely twinged slightly when he moved his wrists awkwardly now.

He had recently stopped taking his medication over the past two days, deciding it was probably doing more harm than good at this point, and so far he hadn’t torn anyone’s head open so it was considered a success in Kieren’s books. He had also moved on to eating bites of soft foods - a biscuit dunked in tea now and again, a  
banana, a few forkfuls of mashed potatoes, things like that. Kieren revelled in the taste and texture of it all and almost cried in excitement when he actually felt hungry. 

He could go as far to say he was happy - touch wood. 

They were both still baffled by the whole first risen, second rising, warming up thing but it was a very confusing situation. Simon had explained his theory about the ‘second rising’ being tied to the warming up, in which case the Undead in Roarton needed to be watched over. Kieren didn’t exactly believe him, but kept an eye out for Undead anyway, watching their hands and faces, trying to determine who would be next to change back. 

Kieren would be left this job while Simon was away, under very safe circumstances as it was very aware that someone would run up to him brandishing a knife. 

Simon was kneeling on the floor, just packing his rucksack for his journey which would begin that night, while Kieren sat on their bed, generally making a nuisance of himself and distracting the older man with bad zombie puns - something he had taken a liking to when he discovered Simon wasn’t nearly as defensive as before, and enjoying their last hours together.

“Hey, Si, what did the zombie say to his date?”

He sighed and smiled, continuing to roll up socks.  
“What did he say?”

“I just love a man with braiiiiiiiiinsssssssss!!” He collapsed into giggles and continued flipping through Jem’s old joke book. Simon rolled his eyes, still smiling, not really that exasperated.

It was at that moment the landline rang from the chest of draws across the room. Kieren, eager for something to do at this point, bounced off the bed and pottered over to the phone. He picked it up to a rather breathless Philip on the other end, blustering and rambling about Amy and how Kieren had to get down to his right now because she was alive, alive and sat in his living room scarfing down crisps and she was there and not under ground-

Kieren dropped the phone with a dull thud, vision swimming suddenly. He stumbled back and grasped the chest to keep his balance.  
Amy. Amy was alive.

“Kier?” Simon was stood in front of him, watching him carefully, hand reached out but not quite touching him. He looked nervous, like he expected Kieren to shout at him or something. Kieren was confused. He was happy, not mad, because Amy was alive.

He tried to tell Simon as much, but he just rasped a weak “Amy…”

“What about her, Kieren? Are you okay? You’re crying-”

It was only at this point did Kieren realise that tears were indeed spilling down his cheeks, burning his eyes slightly and dripping wet onto the collar of his jumper. “I’m fine, Simon, Amy, so’s Amy. She’s fine Simon.” The older man blinked at him slowly. 

“Kieren… Amy’s…”

“No, no, Phil was just on the phone,” Kieren seemed to regain his footing a little and he stumbled away from the chest of drawers and past Simon fleetingly, “we need to go. She’ll be waiting for us, we need to…”

He continued mumbling to himself as he strode from the bedroom to pull his boots on at the door. “Come on Simon.” He demanded as he set off walking, vision blurred slightly and shivering in the cold spring air. He should’ve brought a jacket. 

He picked up the pace into a run and he could hear Simon calling his name, then the reluctant patter of his shoes as he followed as fast as he could. 

Kieren didn’t care, he made it to the Wilson household in record time and before he could even make it halfway up the path the door flung wide open to expose Amy, warm brown eyes and pink flushed skin from the cold, but otherwise pale. Amy was dressed in a pale pink dressing gown and underneath what looked like an oversized t-shirt. She looked drawn, huge dark circles under her eyes, and deathly sick but her face broke out in the biggest of smiles when she saw him.

“Kieren Walker! When did you start wearing contacts again?” She all but bellowed at him. Kieren himself laughed until more tears squeezed their way out of his eyes. He sped up his walk again to meet Amy halfway and wrap his arms around her. She felt even smaller than she looked while pressed up against him, all skin and bones and sharp ribs. She smelt like she hadn’t had a shower in weeks nevermind days, her hair was matted and soft with grease against his face. He held her tighter. 

“I’m alive Amy, actually alive, and you are too, oh god.” He muttered and tried to keep his breathing level. His best friend was back from the dead for a second time, he was allowed to be a bit emotional.

“Yeah, Kieren, I’m alive.” Amy sounded a bit choked up herself. Kieren could feel her shaky breath against his neck. After what felt like a century they pulled apart and Kieren got a closer look at Amy - the fine lines around her eyes had deepened and her skin looked weathered, her lips were chapped and her eyes dull.

“God, Amy, you look like shit.”

“Oi, is that any way to be talking to your wife?”

“Wedding back on, then?” He grinned, falling back into their easy banter in a heartbeat.

“Of course, moregeous, unless you’re still shacked up with Mymon.”

“I am indeed, in your bungalow as it turns out.”

“Nothing X-rated I hope!” She exclaimed, waving her hands, “actually, I do hope, for your sake, but not in my Nan’s bed Kieren Walker!” 

He threw his head back and laughed.

“Amy.” The soft voice of Simon came from behind them both; he was stood at the gate and holding his sleeves in his fingers. His hair was ruffled from the wind and his face looked pained the minute he set his eyes on her.

“Simon Monroe, get your irish arse over here.” Amy stepped forward and wrapped her thin arms around his neck. He hugged her carefully, like he was scared of breaking her.

“They got to you, didn’t they? The treatment center?” He looked sick. Kieren could barely make out the words. He didn’t really understand, well, he knew Simon hated the treatment center and everything that had to do with the doctors there, but he never knew why, not fully. Putting two and two together he knew it was because of that place that he had the scar on his back. Kieren suddenly felt very sick himself as he saw Amy stiffen slightly.

“Yes, they did. But without them I wouldn’t be here right now, okay?” She patted the side of his face affectionately. “You’re being such a worry wart Simon, I promise I’m okay now I’m out. I’m going to heal up proper, yeah?” He nodded morosely and Kieren took this as his chance to step forward and join in on the embrace. 

He didn’t know was was going on, but as they pulled away again and started bundling inside for tea as both Amy and Kieren were shivering, he felt much better about everything in general.

“We can’t stay long, Amy,” Simon told her quietly, as they sat squidged in on the soft sofa in the Wilson’s living room, Shirley bustling around a little and smiling fondly at them all.

“Whyever not?” She protested, looking a bit taken aback.

“Si has a train to catch, he’s going to the city to take down the Undead Mafia.” Kieren explained in a rush.

Amy blinked at him.  
“For some reason, I think we need to catch up on quite a bit.” She smiled and took a long slurp of her tea which made Simon wince fondly and Kieren laugh. “But first, let me tell you all about my adventures in escaping the terrible, awfully problematic treatment center…”

She launched into a story, flailing her free hand when necessary to add emphasis and Kieren lent back, tea resting in his hands, Simon pressed up on one side and Amy on the other, listening to the latter babble. Yes, he was definitely happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at amyspetticoat.tumblr.com  
> Art by lehonk.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at amyspetticoat.tumblr.com


End file.
